I Had a Moment… and Then It Was Gone

Sitting at my kitchen table, I hear the low winding-down sound of the power going out. I make a subconscious note to limit opening the refrigerator and continue working on my laptop. I type until the silence becomes too loud. Its weight settles on my shoulders. I look up, as if acknowledging the silence as a presence. 

I am alone in the house. I lean back and feel the chair’s curved wood support my back. I feel back in my body. For anyone who spends a lot of time in their head, you know that moment you become aware of your feet on the floor. The silence is uncomfortable; it has been a long time since I have felt this level of silence. Then I start to lean into it. It reminds me of something untouched, like fresh-fallen snow no one has walked on. Just as I feel my shoulders drop a little, I hear the muffled sound of car doors slamming. I take a breath and count to five, the front door opens, the kids come barreling in, and they are hungry.  The moment of serenity, lost as I jump up to preserve the coldness of the refrigerator.  

I still marvel at the difference between being home alone and being home alone when the power goes out.  True silence. Lately, I have been thinking about the childhood skiing trips. My dad was so eager to get on the slopes that we were there, ready to go, 10 minutes before the place opened. That first lift ride up the mountain, my body taking its first break since getting up, still sleepy, kept awake by the chill on my cheeks.  

The quietness of our surroundings, interrupted only by the loudness of crossing over the chairlift’s support poles. But in between poles, off to the side of the freshly grated slope, was the untouched snow. Large boulders with a toupee of snow, tree branches bending under the weight of it. Although I am not a morning person, for five days I enjoyed this morning ritual… it also calmed my terrified thoughts of falling off the chairlift.  

Skiing was a joy I left behind in my youth, but when I am overwhelmed or stressed, I often reflect on those early-morning moments that calm the world for a few minutes.  I find I don’t get to stay in those quiet moments for long. It’s not from lack of trying. I start off in my car in a zen space, but by the time I merge onto the freeway, Cruella Deville has taken over.  Sigh!